


Princesses and Makeshift Castles

by fusrodie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Pillow & Blanket Forts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fusrodie/pseuds/fusrodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevelyan is a firm believer no one's too old to build blanket forts. His daughter agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princesses and Makeshift Castles

Cassandra knew something was wrong the moment she stepped inside. She had pushed the door open expecting arms around her waist, fingers tugging at her sleeves, her foolish husband planting kisses on her neck. But she had been greeted by silence, specks of dust swirling in the sunlight, wood creaking under her weight and the smell of sweet tea filling the air. Another step – but still the house was quiet, much too quiet despite it being mid afternoon. Trevelyan wasn’t home – and that had to be the only possible explanation. He was never quiet, never placid, too much energy bubbling under the surface despite his easy smiles. And Maker, their daughter had inherited his vivacity, unstoppable since she had learned how to walk.

The answer satisfied her: her husband had taken her to play outside, perhaps for a ride or a walk, a picnic near the lake. Her sword was placed on its rack, somewhere high where their daughter couldn’t reach it, her carrying it simply a precaution, a habit she could not let go even after the troubled times had passed. Cassandra sighed as the heavy coat slid off her shoulders, a soft cotton shirt more than enough to keep her warm now that she was far away from the Frostbacks. Boots were discarded, bare feet feeling every ridge in the wood beneath, and she wondered what her uncle would say if he saw her now. Focused, serious Cassandra never disappeared; but playful, carefree Cassandra had tagged along somewhere down the road, and this one did not care for proper clothing and morning rituals, had learned to disregard so many little things that once seemed important in her controlled life. In turn she had learned to stay in bed just a little longer, to eat tiny cakes for breakfast and lick the frosting off her fingers, to lay on the rug in nothing but socks and her underclothes with a book in her hands.

She had learned this and so much more from the fool she called a husband, and she could hardly believe the Maker had seen her fit to receive so many blessings. Perhaps her greatest one now sat cross-legged in front of the Orlesian coffee table, a rare, expensive gift from Josephine. Just as expensive were the porcelain cups and saucers, the teapot and the silverware, evenly distributed across the table. Her short hair was pulled back, secured in place by shiny pins, nails coated flawlessly in pink, and she would look every bit a princess were it not for the clothes she wore – a replica of her mother’s armor, shirt, gambeson, pauldrons, her favorite wooden sword within arm’s reach.

Cassandra couldn’t help but snort when she saw what had become of her husband, who drank calmly from his pretty cup, hair pulled into all sorts of braids and ponytails, nails painted one each color. His face looked even more impressive, the pink tones on his cheekbones highlighting the freckles on his nose, eyelids in shades of blue and purple, lips tinted red, smudged here and there.

“And there is the lady of my castle,” he said as he took another sip, pinky finger darting out as he brought the cup to his mouth, and Cassandra’s snickering did not seem to bother him in the slightest. “May I present lady Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast Trevelyan,” he signaled her to come closer, sitting her down beside him before continuing, “Lady Cassandra, this is Antonia Pentaghast Trevelyan, fabled warrior, princess of all Thedas, Duchess of Ostwick and Commander of Forces of the Pinkquisition.”

Both of them took it very seriously, despite the tears in her eyes and the giggling that had become full on laughter, and she was offered the sweetest of beverages and best tiny cakes in the world. The tea was cold and the pastries misshaped, but Antonia’s eyes gleamed with pride every bite she took. Her daughter and husband spoke of great battles, he gave her a full report on the situation with the Nevarran stuffed bears, and later the two discussed plans for their alliance with the famous Purple Wardens.

Antonia had started to rub her eyes vigorously by the time the sun had set, yawning as she went around the living room picking up toys, helping her father push the furniture back into place. She was strangely still for her bath, blowing bubbles with the soap and singing her favorite lullabies, not offering any sort of resistance when Cassandra wrapped the towel around her. She buttoned her nightshirt herself, put on her favorite fluffy socks, tugged at her father’s sleeves asking to be taken to her bedroom for a story, and was fast asleep before he could finish the second page. He was still dressed in his princess regalia when he came back, makeup and frilly skirt, and the man had the balls to flirt with her, leaning against the doorframe, giving her his best smile.

“I missed you,” he whispered, and the way Trevelyan looked at her never failed to send shivers down her spine.

“I missed you, too,” she leaned in, dodged his attempt to kiss her lips, gave him a quick peck on his cheek instead. “Oh no, you are not kissing me with your face like that.” Cassandra laughed as she made for the washbasin, clean cloth and a bowl of warm water in hand when she came back. He, too, stood very still and let her work, untangle his hair and wipe the rouge off his face, and Cassandra took the opportunity to tell him details of her journey, news she had heard on the road. She made him promise they would travel together again, soon, as soon as their daughter was old enough to ride – perfect as it may look, the quiet life did not suit either of them.

He promised to make their bed while she washed off the dirt and sweat from the road, apologized for the lack of rose petals and scented candles, but hoped his presence would be enough. Cassandra could almost feel his touch on her skin as she rested against the tub, head thrown back and eyes closed, a lazy smile on her face. It was good to be home again, to finally fill the emptiness their absence had left in her heart, and at times like these, she wished she never had to leave. One day this too will be over, she thought, the maneuvering and politicking, the building and commanding, burdens that had always been part of her life, but were no longer her priority.

She was already dry and dressed when she tiptoed towards their bedroom’s door, almost expecting to find her husband had already slept. Instead she found it locked, rapped her knuckles against the wood but received no answer.

“Trevelyan, what is the meaning of this?” she asked, brows furrowed but a playful smile on her lips. The blankets and chairs Antonia had stolen hadn’t been moved an inch, the magnificent structure of fabric and pillows still taking over a good portion of their living room.

“You are the lady of my castle, aren’t you? This is my humble abode,” his voice had his distinct, mockingly seductive tone as he spoke, lying on his side under the improvised tent, a lamp hanging from a flap the only light source aside from the fireplace.

“Don’t you think we are a little too old for this?” she smiled despite her words, crawled inside to lay beside him.

“Oh, please. Being too old for such beautiful, colorful castles? Nonsense.” He gave her space to get closer, head resting against his shoulder, one hand flat against his chest. Her wedding band caught her eye just then, such a simple ring, golden, hearts carved into the metal, and it seemed like yesterday he had stumbled upon his every word to propose, and she had been a bigger fool to say yes. But it hadn’t been yesterday, and for that she was thankful, for every day since was another happy memory of their life together. They were older now, their responsibilities seemed to have doubled instead of diminished, but she would never trade it for anything.

“I hope you realize we will regret this in the morning,” she muttered, looking up at her husband, but his expression told her he hadn’t a care in the world. 

And he was right not to care, this time. Perhaps they were old, perhaps they were no longer the warriors they used to be, and perhaps uncomfortable blankets made for poor accomodations. But she had learned to appreciate such little displays of affection, to cherish the silly moments they shared. Quiet nights and slow days were time well deserved, proof of their troubled past, their reward for having endured. After all, they were not, and would never be, too old to love.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an ask meme prompt sent to [my Tumblr](http://fus-ro-die.tumblr.com/): Cassandra and Trevelyan cuddling in a blanket fort. Strongly inspired by the art made by [nvaderxim](http://nvaderxim.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> It's post-Qualifications, post-Sleepless Nights, post-proposal, and I haven't written it yet... But I'll get there... Someday.


End file.
